Fool's Fire
by Black White and Superstitious
Summary: Why, yes; his belief and fear in something he had never seen was irrational and stupid. It was still the most wonderful stupidity of which he had ever been guilty. He left it behind in high spirits.


Shrimpy: Happy Halloween! I decided to be a wisp this year because I love the idea. That's what inspired this fic. And for once I have something on time for Halloween, so that's good.

Eat lots of candy and be mischievous but DON'T GET ANYONE HURT! OvvO

Those who don't have Halloween...at least enjoy what you can of this story? OuO

Also I'm sorry that it's pretty stupid and people speak strangely; to be fair, I say "shucks" when I get really nervous, and I do use "reckon" an awful lot.

* * *

Len didn't necessarily believe the old geezers during their bingo games and summer porch yarns. He just kindly remembered his manners like Momma told him. They thought he was so charming, the old ladies. They thought he was so polite. And he didn't mind the older women, no, because they were just as kind as any old lady could be. Often they had treats for him to enjoy in their company. Len would be wandering off to see his friends for a ball game or the chance to play "Explorer" in the swamp. Suddenly, although not unexpectedly, he would be called to the big ol' house with all the seniors who liked to play games. Sometimes he spent time with the little old ladies, who were nice enough that he stayed to talk. He really liked them, oh boy he did; they were lovely company. Although it wasn't always the ladies. Occasionally it was the old men.

And he couldn't say he was fond of them.

He would sit cross-legged on the porch, covered with chipping blue paint, and stare expectantly at the old men. The thing about the men, now, was that they didn't enjoy bingo like the older ladies did. They didn't really seem to like tea and cakes either. What they really wanted was to talk and talk and talk away the day, at least til their false teeth or a hunk of chaw popped out of their wrinkly mouths. It was disgusting.

He smiled politely. They didn't necessarily smile back. They were either always drunk and baring the lone yellow incisor or they were bitter, never relenting their tight frown. They talked about the government which Len didn't understand, and argued about politics. They complained about their wives who, unsurprisingly, complained just as much about them. Some of them sang old war songs and reminisced the blood and destruction from that time. Len felt he should at least listen a little since their own grandchildren no longer would, but he was never interested in war. Not even play ones.

They talked about the good ol' days when the swamp wasn't officially closed off from the public. They'd get good game there. Tough mallards, lovely cranes, and strange bog plants that caused hallucinations. Len wasn't interested the least bit in these parts of the swamp because he knew them. He played regularly in their murky depths, only to come back home before supper and relay these tales to his young sister Rin.

They began one tale about a particularly stubborn wild drake that kept squirming after being shot straight in the gullet. Len saw their hearty laughter and wondered whether he should be laughing about it, too. The senior who told the tale was laughing and squawking a real storm, while his companions hooted and slapped their knees, forgetting about the little guest who couldn't understand the joke.

He lamented his polite nature. Why couldn't he have lied and run off, so that he could play ball with his neighbors for a little while? Or pretended to not hear them? After all, it was what every other kid did. Just not him. _He_ had to be nice. Discreetly, he glanced at the borders of the swamp and wished he could be running through them right then.

Alarmingly, the tale was shortened by a sharp outburst. "The boy probably ain't interested," rightly guessed one old man who croaked like a dying frog. "My own grandson wouldn't be amused by that story and he's a downright fool." With his beady eyes, the elder man scanned Len. He felt nervous and unconsciously plucked at his suspenders.

"Tell me boy, do you know all these stories about the swamp?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are they very fun to listen to anymore?"

"Well I like 'em plenty."

"Don't lie. You just hear about hunting and fighting. Do boys ever get tired of that?"

"I'd think no, sir, but my father takes me hunting often and it isn't very fun."

"There you have it," he sighed. "He's heard it all and he don't care much."

Len watched the old man slowly rise from the rocking chair, bones cracking even as he hobbled over to the edge of the porch. As the boy swiped flecks of paint off his legs, he followed the old man's gaze to the green jungle.

"You know the snakes and the birds and the plants?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know the predators."

"Yes, sir."

"You've heard of, if not seen, every pond and bog and stream in that swamp."

"Yes, sir."

"You've traveled the trails."

"Yes, sir."

"You ever gotten lost before?"

"Sure have, but I found my way home."

"Ever gotten lost after dark?"

"No. Once during twilight, but I always get out before the stars wake up, sir."

"Good thing, too. After all, you know what happens when you stay in the swamp after dark."

"No, I don't."

"What now? Did I hear correctly?" The old man leaned down as far as his creaking knees and cracking back would allow, only to cup his hand near his ear.

Len felt his ears and face burn a little despite being in the shade. He felt like he would fumble, but indignantly corrected himself.

"No I don't, _sir_."

"Not that, boy. Don't you know what happens to folks who stay in the swamp after dark?"

"They get...lost?" Replied the boy, hopeful.

"Worse," called another old man. All the others were getting excited, mumbling to themselves and uttering dry chuckles that sounded like wheezing. The blond was sure their insides were dried out and they were like shriveled dead leaves.

"We got them Will o' the Wisps," whispered a senior who sat on the far end of the porch.

"In the swamp, we got 'em," assured the old man with a real smile. He had most of his teeth despite the mustard yellow color.

"What's that?"

"Wisps, Fool's Fire, Wraiths, Jack o' Lanterns, creatures of light. They got treasure buried in that swamp and they don't want nobody touchin' it. So they make fire and lure you deep into the forest, away from the gold and jewels, boy."

"No, they lure you for food. They's brighter than the stars at night, and confuse you 'til you walk into hell, where you're eaten by their master!"

"They don't mean no harm, they lead ya out if you're paying the right attention."

"Any of you sirs ever seen one?" Asked the boy, leaning so that he chin rested in his palms. Now, he was very skeptical of such a thing existing, but it never hurt to listen. They had odd, varying descriptions for something that they were so sure existed. And this would be one of the first stories in a long while that made him the slightest bit interested in the old men's talk.

One particularly large man closest to the door boomed, "'Course I have! There I was, after a long day's work in the bog. Caught myself two nice frogs and one little furry thing with two buck teeth. I was s'posed to bring them home for supper, see, but it was like they trees and vines were sprouting out of the water faster than a drunkard at the sight of his wife. I felt trapped in the branches and I couldn't find 'n exit. I was just walking, looking for some way out, and I didn't see one. And then there was a bright light, color of the sea. It was far away, but still. And I think to myself, 'someone else is out here and I can ask for help.'

"So I call for their attention and follow the light. I followed until all traces of sun slipped out of the sky, and then, boy, I stopped vexed, 'cause, the light just moved farther out of the way. It wasn't till I went in the opposite direction that it started glowing brighter, and bigger, and I realized it was comin' towards me. But I kept running, as I was mighty frightened by then, and I saw my home start to appear. I ran all the way to my bedroom and wouldn't even come out for a drink of water after all that running."

"Wisps," Len began slowly, "ain't real, are they?" He didn't want to seem afraid of balls of light that probably didn't exist, but he couldn't say he would like to be in the same position as that man had been.

"Real as the swamp they haunt," said the old men seriously, or well, as seriously as their pruny old faces could muster. As serious as thick mustaches and greasy sideburns could appear.

* * *

Len had grown. He couldn't say he'd grown much; he was still on the short side. But he was just as tough and cheeky and boyish as a boy could be. His hair had darkened to a dirty blond shade, his eyes had become even more serious. He still listened to the tall tales; legends and lore became him favorite pastime. He relayed them to his little sister Rin, warned her, "the unexplained aren't really unexplained; they're all related to one event or another."

She didn't believe in ghosts like he did. His family chided him, friends teased him. His superstitious behavior was less than satisfactory. Oh, well. Len sometimes did think himself silly, a fourteen-year-old boy who believed in ghouls he'd never really seen. But in the end a deep-seated belief kept him abiding the old legends. He didn't invite suspicious people into his home, lest they pass the vampire test (he threw garlic at them). He, however, was a fair child and kind enough that he was almost normal, so this was pardoned for the most part.

He didn't enter the swamp much anymore. Unless his father forced him to go on a hunting trip or cross the marsh to meet with people in another town, he would wander near the edge, brush against its borders, but never break the thick underbrush. Never tread upon a twig. It was because of an intense, longstanding fear. Len had heard all kinds of stories about goblins, witches, devils, hags, all sorts of creatures, and none ever worried him too much. But the Wisps stuck with him. He didn't understand why he was terrified of being led astray in a territory he had always felt was his own. Still, with all the stories people had, it was difficult to tell him that he should stop worrying about it. If anything the wisps were the most likely of all the creatures he studied. Nearly every man that went into the swamp had a story to tell concerning them.

This did not include Len's father. He was a patient and just man, but he did not believe in ghosts. He did not believe in goblins or witches, nor faeries and haunts, and most certainly he didn't believe in a sentient ball of fire. He continued to hunt whenever he pleased, and only headed back home in time for supper, not to avoid ghouls.

"Len," He said one day. He son looked up from the peculiar book in his hands.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you come with me on a trip?"

"To where, Pop?" The Boy blinked and marked his page with one of Rin's old hair ribbons.

His father named a familiar town with peaceful people and good cheese. Of course anyone would've liked to make a quick visit, especially if they'd made friends of certain people there, such as the blond had. Unfortunately, as you may have guessed, the quickest route was a "safe" path through the swamp.

If you were smart or lived around long enough, the path looked anything but safe. The dirt was more accurately described as drying mud, and never completely free of moisture. This was a hazard when it got wetter in the slightest. It was too narrow for a carriage, barely fitting for two horses squeezed side by side upon the beaten road. Two people would be granted a little more comfort in the sense of space, but it was rather dark everywhere and frightening in general. You wouldn't even feel very safe if you brought a musket.

'Course, it didn't matter when Len's father wouldn't bring one. They just brought some bread and an oil lamp. Despite being awful, they could take that swamp road and get to the other town before five o'clock, if they started at high noon.

It was difficult to argue with his father when they were in fact heading over early, at eight in the morning. They could be in and out. He pleaded not to go, citing the fact that he hadn't finished his book. Essentially that claim was only good for making the man angry. So his book was duly confiscated. He tried to get it back any way he could. Begging on his knees did not help hid case. "You're comin' with me boy an' that's final."

Len muttered a few cuss words under his breath, knowing he'd be whipped raw by his parents if they ever heard him.

They packed a couple of sandwiches, unfortunately cheese-less, and took a beat, dull oil lamp. Then they set off to a most unpleasant corner of the swamp, which was eternally, unpleasantly glossy even with no rain to blame.

Len hesitated coming within a foot of the foliage. It was always dark green and amazingly wicked in the distance. He deeply feared the idea of being swallowed whole by a tree. Dare I say it, this boy that loved the natural and unnatural was quaking in his mud boots, intimidated by plants.

"Well hurry along, boy!" His father called roughly. Without a second's thought he pushed away the greens and disappeared quickly into the darkness.

The young lad did not care to be responsible for losing his father in a local "road," so he rushed in right after. He was the one with the sack.

It had been a while since he last entered the swamp. For some reason the canopy looked thicker, like burlap. Most shadows were a deeper shade of black than he thought possible and the tiny flame could not be said to have helped him at all. He caught up to his father soon, only by following the smallest flickering of orange he'd ever seen.

When its dark and you don't speak, you can somehow hear everything. Condensation dripping from leaves, small animals scuttling along. The unpleasant stench of rotting plants quickly plugged his nostrils. He were almost certain at times that they would never see the light of day again. Still, the occasional bright patch in the trees brought comfort to him, knowing that there was still a world beyind acres of unpleasant darkness. And when he finally saw light ahead of them, he was not put at ease.

Who knows how long they should have walked before the son finally said something, and it was not of any importance.

"There's something wet in my boot."

After a pause, the little "lamp" creaked and rattled as if wind had flicked it.

"How long have we been walking, Pop?"

This was not something he could wrap his blond head around. How long _had_ they been on their way? It was a straight path, but one couldn't really see the sun to make an estimate. Nor had anyone decided to pack a watch on this journey. How would they be expected to see it for the most part, if they had?

"I don't know," he answered himself, and just froze into the peat moss.

In the midst of fear, he wracked his brain for the words that he dreaded to speak. "...did we take a turn back there?"

Panic rose through the boy's veins and poured generously through his body. He knew not where the turn was, or when, or why they had suddenly just deviated from the path. And if they had, what was it beneath their feet? There was a single muddy road from where they had started, which they were not on anymore.

"We must be on the edge of a peat bog," Len sighed, even though he was not okay in the least. They could've sunken straight into it if they had continued where they were headed. He looked down to see glistening mud reflect some of the dull yellow light. How strange that everything was dark, when the outside-

His head snapped back up again. The light they had been facing as they were going straight, the exact same bluish glow of day...it was still ahead of them, over a deep pit of peat moss. He looked around him and realized everywhere else, even the blotches of sky that peaked across the treetops, had gone dark. That wasn't physically possible.

"Pop?" He called timidly.

No answer greeted him.

"We turned, but we're still headed for the same light." It took two seconds to feel suspicious about the lack of response. Lo and behold, when his trembling hand reached into the sack and raised the empty lamp up to just where he could see it; how quickly the light of day faded from before him, and the dirty yellow light he had been following erupted into a fantastic show of blue flames. He cried out in a squeak like his sister, not feeling any shame though as he stumbled back from what looked like danger.

Bells seemed to ring and echo through every crevice of the marsh, leaving him dazed with awe. For some reason, the fire was graceful and ethereal, bright to the point of holiness.

"Y-y-y-you... _you're_ a wisp? You led me astray, to a point where I could have died without ever seeing my family again, for no reason I can tell," he shook his head, unable to remove his eyes from its brilliance, "and so what can you do to me here?"

It did not reply. He expected it to loom closer to him, but really the thing kept it's distance.

It was so queer. In most of the stories, a wisp was surprisingly aggressive, with a shocking sickly color and a relentless pursuit of some sort. And it always fueled dread in people's hearts like they were filled with oil. When he looked at this one, though, he was convinced that it was...lovely. Any fear from the stories was gone, knowing this was now his tale and he should worry no longer. With that idea he wanted to be different. In every account of every man, he'd seen enough cruelty from fate. People were considered unlucky for running into the fool's fire, yet he felt like the strongest person in the world with the best odds.

"Just this once," he scolded, "you ought to be kind."

Now, he never expected it to answer, so when he saw a flickering of blue break off from the main orb, he didn't think it would darken and take the shape of a cloak. Of course it did, as one would expect in this kind of story.

A delicate, pale hand reached up and pushed back the hood. What he saw stole his breath. Yes, lovely had been the correct word, for the pixie-like girl underneath. At first he noticed her ears, which were pointed, and came to see the rest of her. Her eyes were large and acidic dark blue, lashes black and long. She was as pale as death. He could see turquoise blush gather upon her button nose and smooth cheeks. Her lips were also quite blue, giving the look of a drowning victim. What was most shocking was her hair, silky, floor-length as to drag across the moss...glowing, even...and quite a vibrant shade of blue-green. She tied it into two loose braids weaved with green vines. She reached for the rest if the fire and appeared to pull out a long, black staff, a time during which he admired her profile in the light.

Her wrists were bound in ribbons. Hanging off of them was an assortment of bells, silver, gold, rusted. All making different noises that might have sounded horrid to Len, were he not suddenly lulled by the sweet music of what we like to call adoration.

She fully pulled out her staff, upon which sat a lantern that glowed the same shade of blue as she had.

"What is your name, boy? Speak up, that I may have the pleasure of this greeting." Even her voice was like the beloved tinkle of a bell.

"L-Len," he replied. It seemed like his voice could not get past his dry throat.

"Len," she echoed, as if relishing in the taste of something sweet. His ears suddenly burned up. "How amazing that a child like you has the bravery to speak to me with such disrespect."

He suddenly felt the urged to say a million things at once. _You tried to kill me. Brave? Thank you. Disrespect? Forgive me. I'm not a child!_ He couldn't find the time nor the brain power to say any of those things. He instead said the simplest thing any young man would say to a lady of such loveliness.

He mumbled, "you're beautiful."

She scoffed. "And the audacity for such comments to a stranger! What a wonderfully peculiar boy you are." But when he saw her cheeks bloom like a blue rose, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent a grin.

"What's your name, miss?" He asked, remembering the manners with which he was raised.

"You may call me Miku, if you must refer to me by a word." She adjusted the staff and the bells jingled.

"It's a mighty pleasure to meet you in person, Miku. I've heard an awful lot about you-" he stopped himself to think. "At least what I believe to be you. Would you be so kind as to tell me something?"

"What do you wish to ask?"

"Why?" Since they both knew that he was referring to the multiple things she had done in the time they werewalking together, she wasted no time in answering.

"The bog goes only as deep as your waist," she insisted. "I only wanted you frightened."

"And about my father?"

"I've already led him out."

"Pop would be awfully pissed if he knew I wasn't with him at all," he mused with a sharp whistle.

"Indeed he is. There's an angry mob looking for you tonight, calling your name." She looked at him like one would look at a silly new acquaintance, which was what he was.

"Oh," he laughed, "that's a search party. I'd better get home. Do you mind telling me where I can find him?"

"At the edge of the swamp, clearly," she answered, blowing a strand of hair out of her flaming eyes. Coolly indifferent to any indication of his unease, she seemed nothing like fire and more like the brilliance you see when submerged in a lake, a rippling azure and verdant dance above your head.

Len was worried about her saying "tonight." That, paired with the color of they sky, might mean that he'd been a victim of a time leap, jumping hours into the night. It was scary thinking that such a thing might happen to you. But he felt surprisingly safe with the wisp. She seemed pleasant enough. Who could peg her for a liar, when he was the only person he knew had spoken to her?

She stared at him sagely. "Would you like me to take you?"

"No offense, but you seem like the last person I would want to take me anywhere."

"Oh, I understand," she said humorlessly, "if you'd like directions from the trees instead."

He seriously considered it. "No, miss," he answered. "I reckon I would do better with someone who can speak." Even though it might have embarrased the two of them, Len was grinning.

"Very well," she said smugly.

Their romp was pleasant. They went side by side, perhaps both of them feeling much safer knowing about the other.

"How old are you?"

"As old as the swamp. And yourself?"

"Fourteen."

"How young," she gasped, "you're an infant."

"Well, it's more like you're ancient."

"I'm very much obliged to you," Miku said, chest swelling with pride.

He snickered. "When you say that to a human woman you get smacked raw in the face."

"I adore my swamp. Look around you" - everything brightened with blue fireflies that fluttered in the air. He could see intricate details he had missed, finding there was not a shadow to be seen. Miku even brightened a little with joy - "this is the way I made it over a long time. Isn't it just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" She spread her arms to gesture to everything. The girl twinkled in a way that the night sky never really could.

"Very nearly," he agreed.

She dropped her arms and frown at him. "I demand to know what could be more gorgeous than this place."

He blushed again, turning to the mud that he squished beneath his shoes. "Shucks," he chuckled anxiously, "what can I say; have you ever looked in a mirror?"

She blinked at him, and then her face darkened to a pleasant shade of blue once more. He couldn't stop thinking of what a lovely creature she was, and how he blushed himself to think that. Girls were usually simple where he came from, and some were almost pretty, but this was a girl that really put anyone to shame with an inhuman, raw perfection.

"You scoundrel," she said softly. "I'm am a perfect stranger to you."

"I'm sorry. Your swamp really is as good as a swamp gets."

Her eyes narrowed. "...Then why did you stop coming years ago?"

Taken aback, he only managed a shrug before his slow explanation tumbled out of his mouth. Maybe she knew everyone the came to the swamp. "Got scared, I s'pose. When I learned of your existence it felt like this place wasn't mine. And I heard that you liked to lead people to confusing places, which don't appeal to anyone." He raised an eyebrow.

"This place isn't yours, truly. It belongs to me and the animals. I detest it when someone comes in here and takes things, and tramples the plants it took me years to grow, and shoots the guests who fly in from the North when its winter...I'm protecting my masterpiece."

"So it really shouldn't matter to you that I don't like coming here."

"Well...! I liked the children, disruptive as they were. They loved what I had." She became morose, her vibrant blues dimming with unhappiness. "It's so hard to find people that appreciate what you create."

"How did you make all of this?" He questioned, gesturing to the plants. "Do all wisps do that?"

"Heavens, I didn't _make the greenery_. I grew things here and invited the animals. We all worked together to make a haven that we liked, and then lived here for a while. We used to speak to each other all the time, loud enough to be heard by outsiders. Humans knew to stay out back then. But now they're here, and we've rarely had the chance." She sighed in exasperation. A puff of powder blue flew from her mouth. She emanated blue, and as he realized, left trail of cobalt ash and emerald embers wherever she tread. It faded away gradually behind her.

Len felt his eyebrows raise. How exciting it would be to hear a conversation between trees and a Wisp! "You mean the trees talk?"

"Did you think I would refer to you a tree if they could not?" She asked haughtily. Her bells chimes once more.

"I didn't..." Oh, the flush of embarrassment.

"Come," she ordered, not caring for his human senses. She took his arm in her small hand. He gasped at her warmth. It was just below the temperature of a hot bath, rather soothing as she was a sentient fireball most of the time. She led him gingerly to a tall, rather skinny tree. He stared up at it, seeing that it ended beyond the grasp of her light. So the leaves were shrouded in a mysterious black.

She cupped her hands against the narrow thing and whispered into it. At first, it only seemed odd. Then something so inexplicable, a feeling of being in a room where everyone is waking up after a very long night. The land shuddered. Every leaf moved from its spot as if in response. The trunks, short and tall, stout and lean, every single one creaked. In the grooves of bark a pure, colorless glow appeared, just glimpses of what could have been white, or green, or red, but seemed impossible to decipher. Then she motioned for him to come nearer; he did just so. With further encouragement, a gentle hand on his shoulder with her heat seeping into his shirt sleeve, he pressed his ear to it.

And he heard. Whispers. While he didn't understand what was being said, what with so many of them buzzing in his skull at once, the tone was welcoming and jovial. They might've just been a choir of angels. There were many things to say, as though they could hear each other all at once and never ran out of things to talk about. It might've been very rushed, which was why he understood none of it. Everything from inside the trees, he decided then, was colorless. Formless.

He looked over at Miku who was giggling and murmuring in response to what she heard. The Wisp could understand. He was slightly jealous.

"Whoever said a tree wasn't a keen conversationalist?" He said in jest.

She smiled at him, her teeth like priceless mother-of-pearl. "A human."

When the trees stopped their unnatural glowing, a time at which they were walking again, Len and Miku joked and teased each other as if they were quite good friends. Certainly he felt like they were, especially considering her deed of introduction to her personal, beloved topiary. It is also important to note that her hand was upon his forearm in an affectionate cling, which one should know young ladies to do when flirting with young men; of course, it never crossed his mind that she would be doing this. It may not have crossed her mind either. She was busy pointing things out and explaining why this tree is that way or why that moss is there. It seemed like the kind of story one would not want to know, except Len had always been told these strange things but never the reasoning behind it. That, coupled with her enthusiasm for a fresh audience, made it so much better.

She pointed to a gnarled, skinny and leafless growth jutting from a particular trunk. "You see that strange branch?" She told him. "I burned it on accident. It took ages to grow a new one in place."

Len grinned at the abundance of wild, twisted limbs around them. "You must do that often."

So she scolded him, and he tittered, and showed him more mistakes that she had grown through.

They were so amiable that they could not be roused from their deep conversation for anything in the world. At least, this was _almost_ as good as the truth. They did not notice moonbeams that flickered among the leaves, which were quickly thinning out. Miku's bright light easily faded like a quiet response. Only as Miku reached to point out one more feature did the young boy think that their time together would actually come to an end. Her beautiful voice described it flawlessly.

"Up there lay my heroes," she sighed wistfully. Len followed her longing gaze to a dark blue sky, littered with white stars. His eyes regarded here curiously.

"They come out at night, too, and they're almost as lovely as the swamp. But they're all the way up there, seen and adored by all. I wish dearly to be like that."

"You've been seen by many people who would very likely admire you, I think, if they knew what you were like," he promised in consolation. "I know I do."

She stared at him with her inhuman eyes. "What a wonderfully peculiar boy," she whispered, releasing her staff. The bells rang again, almost eternally. She reached up, cupped his face and kissed him sweetly upon the lips.

How amazing for him, knowing he had always loved legends. Now he practically became one: the only human he'd ever known to be kissed by a Wisp.

* * *

The posse Len's father had rounded was still skirting the edge of the forest, for one last look. Oh, how his momma wept, and little Rin clung to her apron with teary eyes. No one knew what to do. The father swore on his soul that they'd walked side by side in that straight path. He saw the light.

They were frankly very scared to go deeper in the forest, fearing that they'd lose memebers to the dark clutches. Regardless they had the heart to scream till their throats were raw, and wave their lanterns with hope. It's really the thought that counts.

They had not quite given up, but their arms were getting tired and the Witching Hour Len had always warned about was soon coming upon them. This significantly added to the creepiness meter. It was around the time that they stopped to rest for a minute that the shrubbery parted clumsily, and a boy staggered out. With relief to the point of tears his father embraced him.

Len was delivered unto them dazed, overheated and dehydrated. Light burns decorated his skin and clothing. He was feverish in the cool night. Other than that, the boy seemed healthy and...elated.

Since he was feeling rather sorry, Pop did not question what any of it was about. Instead he brought his son home for a late supper and rest. He even personally returned the book he had taken, though his wife had pressured him to it. His family received him very well and did not ask many questions. The ones they did, he pretended to have very blurry answers to.

Len sat quite satisfied at the table with a drowsy Rin in his lap, reading aloud one of the tales. She had insisted despite a strict bedtime. His eyes and tongue skimmed directly over the words. His lips stung. He didn't worry about any of that at all, though. This was due to his wandering mind. Sometimes between sentences, he glanced at the door and hoped maybe to see the outline of the swamp on a backdrop of stars. Somewhere between, maybe he'd perceive a flicker of blue recognition.

Yes, with a love-sick sigh, he closed the book and imagined a visit to that swamp as soon as possible.


End file.
